Malevolence
by CharlieSummer7
Summary: The reader is in a dangerous relationship and Dean is determined to protect her.
1. Drag On

Malevolence Part One

Sitting in your truck, you take a long drag on your joint. The dilapidated barn sitting across the field blocks an otherwise beautiful view. It's late autumn and most of the leaves have fallen leaving the trees bare. There's a nip in the air and the sky threatens to open up to snow any day now. You exhale softly and smoke fills the little cab of your truck. Checking your face in the rear view mirror, you assure yourself that your make up hasn't smudged. After taking one last drag, you put out your roach in the ash tray and finally step out into the cool air.

The smell of rotting leaves and damp wood fills your nose. You zip your coat tighter and roll your shoulders. They still ache from your last expenditure. Rolling up your jacket sleeve, you check your watch. Unsurprisingly, the Winchester boys are late again.

It's another ten minutes before the Impala rolls up next to your truck. By this time your fingers are numb and you have your fists buried into your pockets. The car doors slam as the boys get out to greet you.

Sam has a sweet, boyish smile on his face. You always marvel at how soft his features are, despite all he's been through.

"Hey Y/N. How's it going?," he asks as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

You relish his touch as you feel his muscular arms wrap around you. He's always been the gentle giant. The smell of leather and coffee wafts through the air and you immediately feel comforted. Sam has been a close friend as long as you can remember and you're happy to see him again. "Hey Sam. I'm good. It's good to see you."

As you pull away from the embrace, your eyes lock with Dean's sage eyes. Your belly immediately flutters and you feel your face redden despite the cold. You've never quite gotten comfortable around the older Winchester. His harsh look and intimidating stature has always given you the impression that he doesn't like you. You're sure that he doesn't want you coming between him and his brother.

"Hey Dean," you smile at him demurely.

"Hey Y/N. How you doing? This the place?"

You nod, "Yea I've been scouting this place out the last couple days. There's definitely a vamp nest in that barn over there. My guess is that there's twenty to thirty of them."

"Well I'm glad you called us," Sam responds. "This is definitely a job for multiple people."

Dean walks around the the back of the Impala and opens up the trunk. An array of weapons are laid out and you eye up a large machete.

"Well, let's do this thing," Dean growls.

The stiffness in your shoulder has worsened due to the cold and recent fight. You flinch slightly as you hit it while sliding into the booth. The local bar is nice enough and it's warm which is all you care about. You sit next to Sam and Dean slides in across from you. He places three pints on the table and hands them out. Your enjoy the feeling of a nice cold beer warming you up.

"Well, that could have gone worse," you say lightly.

"Coulda gone a lot fucking better too," Dean mutters into his beer.

There's a clear tear in his jacket and a combination of mud and blood is splattered across his face. None of you had thought to shower before getting a drink. You look at Sam and at yourself, realizing that the three of you are all covered in mud and vampire blood. However, nobody else at the bar gives you guys a second glance.

"Come on," Sam chimes in. "We cleared the nest and none of us are dead or maimed. I'd say it's a pretty good day!"

You chuckle and cheers with Sam, but Dean just looks on gloomily. You can't help, but feel that Dean is staring at you.

After a few more beers, the three of you are starting to feel relaxed after a long day. You've caught up on all your latest hunting stories and have had a few good laughs. The conversation soon turns to more personal matters.

"So Y/N," Sam attempts to ask casually, "How are you and Mike doing?"

The question catches you off guard. Normally, you don't talk about your relationship with Sam. You know he doesn't approve of Mike. "He's good. Up in Nebraska right now hunting werewolves. I'll probably drive up there and join him in the next couple of days."

"And you guys are good? Still happy with him?," Sam presses a bit harder.

Dean scowls across the table and finishes off another beer. You know he hates talking about personal matters. "Yep. We're good," you reply briefly.

Luckily, the waitress interrupts you before Sam can ask anymore questions.

"Can I get anything for you, dears?," she smiles sweetly. She only falters a little when she sees your appearances. Dean orders another round of beers and she swiftly scurries away.

"Christ," you swallow, "Maybe we should try and clean up a little. At least the blood."

Dean pulls out a packet of wet naps from his bag and you raise an eyebrow at him. "What?," he defends. "You gotta be prepared for a quick clean up in this business."

You laugh and reach for a wipe. Sam has already grabbed a couple and is in the midst of cleaning off his face. As you run the wipe over your own face, you feel it sting your small cuts. Persisting, you scrub away all the blood and muck.

Gathering up the used wipes, you get up and throw them in a nearby garbage can. When you return, the boys are staring at you. Sam's hazel eyes are wide while Dean's are narrowed into a glare.

"What?," you ask confused.

"Where'd you get that shiner?," Dean growls under his breath.

You raise your hand to your face and silently curse yourself. All your make up has come away with the wipes. A large purple bruise sits clear as day next to your left eye. There's a slight cut at the centre of it and another one going through your eyebrow. You try to look nonchalant.

"Must of got hit by a vamp," you shrug as you return to your seat next to Sam. "My adrenaline must of been so high that I didn't notice."

Sam purses his lips at you and sadness fills his amber eyes. He decides to hold his tongue as he doesn't want you leaving sooner than you plan too. Dean doesn't show the same restraint.

"All that mud did an amazing job at covering it up," he scoffs sarcastically.

Your eyes flash to meet his and you grit your teeth. "Yea, I guess it did," you snap back. "I think I'm going to call it a night guys. Feeling pretty tired."

Throwing some cash on the table, you move to leave.

"Y/N—," Sam starts, but you cut him off.

"I'll just be at the motel. I'll see you in the morning."

You walk away before either of them can say anything else. The waitress passes you with a confused look on her face. She's carrying three pints to the table, but you're no longer in the mood to drink. You push the large front door and enter into the cold night air.

Back in the booth, the two Winchester's look at each other grimly.


	2. The Guest

Malevolence Part Two

Sitting down, you join the boys at the table in the small diner. You order a black coffee while Sam works on his oatmeal and Dean devours entire plate of eggs, bacon, and more bacon.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack," Sam chastises his brother.

Dean simply shrugs and shovels more food into his mouth. "Something's going to kill me. Might as well go out eating what I love."

You stifle a chuckle and sip your coffee. Dean looks you up and down like he's suspicious of you. "Where'd your bruise go?"

Sam flops down his newspaper and glares at his brother. You think you feel him kick Dean under the table.

"Nothing a little bit of makeup can't fix," you smile. You hold your head up and try to appear confident. "A girl in this line of business has to take care of herself."

Dean mutters something under his breath, but Sam interjects so you can't hear him. "So what are you plans, Y/N? I think I've picked up on some supernatural events happening in a small town in Oklahoma. Thinking a ghost or possibly a poltergeist. You in?"

Looking at you with a small smile, Sam seems eager for you to join them. "Are you sure three people isn't a crowd?," you ask while glancing at Dean. You don't want to over stay your welcome.

"Not at all!," Sam exclaims. "We could actually really use your help on this one. We know you have lots of experience with this type of thing."

Your eyes return to Dean as he finishes off his breakfast. He looks you in the eye and scans your face. His features soften slightly. "Come on, Y/N. It'll be fun."

A bright smile crosses your face. "Ok. Yea sure. I'd love too! I'll just text Mike and let him know what's up. We weren't suppose to meet up until next week anyway."

"Yea, you do that," Dean grumbles and he finishes off his coffee and gets up to pay the bill. You look at Sam and he simply shrugs shyly.

The three of you pull up to another dingy little motel in buttfuck nowhere Oklahoma. You pull your truck up next to the Impala and get out.

"Great another luxury vacation," you mutter. Dean can't help but chuckle under his breath.

The three of you enter the little lobby and approach the desk to check in. When you give the receptionist your name, she does a double take.

"Y/N? You're Y/N?"

Your look at her nervously and curse yourself for not giving a fake name. "Yes?," you respond hesitantly, "That's me."

"There's a gentleman here and he's already checked you in! Oh look, here he is now."

You spin around to see Mike entering the lobby. He has a wide smile on his face and approaches your group. Sam and Dean stiffen slightly beside you.

"Mike?," you gasp. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you, doll! Thought I'd come join you for a hunt."

He wraps his arm around your waist and pinches you a little too tight. You hug him back and he plants a heavy kiss on your lips. The taste of tobacco fills your mouth.

Peeling yourself away from him, you smile at the boys in embarrassment. You look up at Mike and realize that he's tall, but not quite as tall as Dean. "I'm so happy you're here babe!" You turn to the boys and ask sheepishly, "I hope you don't mind having another man on this hunt?."

"Of course they don't!," Mike interjects. "I'm sure they could use the help."

"For sure," Sam finally responds with a half smile. "The more the merrier."

You meet Dean's sage eyes and he's simply glaring at Mike. You square your jaw and ignore him. You know he isn't a big fan of working with others.

"Well it's late," you chime in. Why don't we get stared in the morning?"

Sam nods his head, "Sounds like a good plan."

Grinning like a fool, Mike jokes, "Perfect! That'll give me some time to get reacquainted with my girl here." He winks at the boys and slaps you roughly on the ass. You yelp and your face colours. Quickly, you say goodnight to Sam and Dean and rush Mike off to your room.

Once you are in the small motel room that Mike rented, he puts his feet up on the couch and his smile fades. "Get me a beer, wontcha?"

You meekly walk over to the fridge and grab one for him before sitting on the adjoining armchair. The two of you sit in silence for moment before you speak up. "You didn't have to come all this way."

Mike scoffs, "And leave you alone with those two brutes for another day? I don't think so. I see how they look at you. Sam has been trying to slink into your pants for years. And don't get me started on that other one."

Flushing, you respond breathily, "You know it's not like that. Sam is just a friend. We've been friends since we were teens."

"Yea? And I've taken care of you since you were twelve! You'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if I hadn't taken you under my wing and helped you survive on the streets. Does that mean nothing to you, Y/N?," Mike roars. HIs quick temper is released on a dime.

You stare down at your hands and purse your lips. Mike stares at you with narrowed eyes before adding, "You've always been stupid and careless when it comes to taking care of yourself. It's a good thing I'm here now. You always need me to save your ass."

Silently, your chest tightens and it feels harder to breath. You feel yourself leaving your body and going numb. It's as if you are just watching yourself go through the motions, but you're not actually here.

"I would have been fine," you reply quietly. You stand and make your way towards the bathroom. "Sam and Dean would have —."

Before you can finish your thought, Mike swiftly comes up behind you, spins you around, and and whips his back hand across your face. You stumble and sit down on the rickety bed. One of your cuts has split open and you can feel your face flush. An immediate headache overtakes you and you feel lightheaded. Mike doesn't relent though.

He approaches you and pushes you down so you're laying flat on the bed. His large hand wraps around your throat until you struggle to breath. You grasp at his fingers and flail your legs. "Don't speak their fucking names to me. You think they can take better care of you than I can? I fucking made you who you are. You ungrateful bitch."

Your eyes are welling with tears and darkness threatens to overtake you. Mike smirks at your struggle. "Now are you going to be a good girl for me? You gonna behave?" You attempt to nod your head as much as you can. "Good," he mutters before he releases his hold on your throat.

Gasping for air, you role onto your side and retch. The air flooding into our lungs feels like sharp icicles. You splutter and attempt to catch your breath. Mike simply looms over you and smiles wickedly at your pain.

"Now normally I'd want to dive into that fat cunt of yours, but I'm fucking exhausted from driving up here to save your ass. So I'm going to shower and then go to sleep," he informs you as he lights a cigarette. He takes a long drag before approaching you on the bed. Squatting, you looks you in the face as you lay out on the bed. Gently, he runs his thick fingers through your long hair and you try not to flinch.

"You gonna be a good girl while I'm gone?," he condescends to you. You nod weakly at him and try to smile. "That's my girl," Mike growls before balling his hand into a fist and punching it right into your gut."

Laying in the fetal position, you numbly hold back tears as he leaves to shower.


	3. Bloody Eight

The floor boards creaks loudly under your boot and you curse yourself silently. You hold your breath and listen, but nothing stirs so you continue down the faded hallway.

Guessing from the style of architecture, you think this house was built around the 1850's. A shiver runs through your body when you think of all the spirits that probably roam these halls. You're hoping you can find the last remains of Mrs. Peabody and then you can get the fuck out of here. Places like this creep you out.

A small bedroom is at the end of the hallway and it's clearly a woman's room. The glass bedside lamp has blurred etchings of butterflies on it and the curtains are a musty pink. You begin to search the drawers of the armoire and try not to sneeze from all the dust. You're hoping to find a hairbrush of some sorts as it may be the final piece that needs to be burned.

Opening the bottom drawer, your hand wraps around an antique comb. After inspecting it, you see long strands of dark hair attached to it. You smile and make to leave, but as you turn around, you're thrown back onto the floor.

A wailing screech makes your ears ring and your breath is knocked out of you. You see the shape of a feminine spirit approach and you grab your shotgun. Firing it off, the spirit disappears, but you know you don't have much time. The bruising on your stomach makes it hard to sit up and your breath feels tight in your chest. Before you can call for help, Dean appears in the door way.

His emerald eyes are wide and shimmering. There's soot in his hair and blood on his lip. Seeing you on the ground, he rushes to you. "Are you ok? What happened?"

Before you can answer, he's inspecting you for injuries. You black T-shirt has ridden up slightly and he notices the discolouration on your belly. Pushing your shirt up to expose your midriff, he looks into your eyes with alarm. A large purple welt sits right next to your bellybutton. Your sheepish look makes his eyes shift from fear to anger. You don't have time for this though.

"Poltergeist. Got the last piece," you say quickly as you stand up, wincing through your pain. Approaching the small fireplace in the corner of the room, you take out your lighter and begin to start a small fire. As the fire builds, the shrieking returns. Dean has his shot gun in his hands while you blow on the embers and grab the comb. You hear him firing salt at the spirit as you toss the brush into the fire. Watching it slowly melt, you try to will it to burn quicker.

At last you hear the final cry of the poltergeist and see it dissipate entirely. You release a long breath as Sam and Mike come rushing in. "Did you get it?," Sam asks breathlessly. You nod as you push past them and leave the room. The idea of looking at Dean right now terrifies you. You don't need his judgement.

Once outside, you place your hands on your knees and take some deep breaths. The stale air of the house leaves your nose and is instead filled with the smell of the early morning dew on the grass. You hear the crunching of gravel behind you.

A strong hand curls around your bicep and pulls you up. "What the fuck was that?," Mike curses at you. The boys are still inside so he doesn't try to dampen his rage. "Are you trying to make me look bad? You think I can't handle a fucking poltergeist? You're suppose to hang back and let me take care of it. You trying to make me look like a fool?"

"No! There just wasn't anytime and Dean ——."

"Oh this asshole again?," Mike interrupts. His grip is becoming painful on your arm. "Why were you even alone with him? You little slut. I should—".

It became Mikes turn to be interrupted as he was torn away from you. In a flash, you see Dean slam his fist into Mike's face. Mike instantly drops to the ground and Dean is on top of him. His fist continues to fly and your boyfriend's face is swiftly opening up with blood.

"DEAN," you scream, "STOP! DON'T HURT HIM!"

Sam rushes out of the house and pulls Dean off of Mike. His face and jacket are speckled with blood and his knuckles are split open. Mike is dazed and laying on the ground in his own blood. You rush down and crouch next to him. "Baby, are you alright?" Mike is too dazed to respond.

"Dean, what the fuck!," you spin and shout at him, but he's too busy yelling at your battered boyfriend.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER. IF I FIND OUT THAT YOU'VE LAID A HAND ON HER AGAIN, I SWEAR I'LL——."

"DEAN!," you yell to get his attention. "Get the fuck out of here! This is none of your business!"

You think you see his enraged eyes softened with sadness, but he doesn't let up.

"Y/N, why are you with him?? We know he hits you! We know he beats you. Your make-up isn't hiding fucking anything."

Your eyes brim with tears at his words. He just doesn't understand. "Dean it's none of your business! Why do you even care? Just get the fuck out of here!"

He looks as though he's going to say something, but he bites his tongue. His nose is flared and his chest is rising sharply from his heavy breathing. Shooting another glare at Mike, he turns away and marches towards the Impala.

Meanwhile, Sam has been watching this whole exchange and has stood at the ready to keep Dean from killing Mike. He glances down at you with despair and is at a loss for words.

"Just go, Sam," you whisper. Your tears are now freely falling down your face as you turn your back on him and focus on Mike's bashed up face.

Sam doesn't leave though and instead crouches down next to you. Shuffling through his jacket pockets, he pulls out a small card and places it on Mike's chest. It has about eight phones numbers on it. "If you ever need anything," he says softly, "Call any of these numbers. We'll come get you anytime and any day."

You look up at him through your long lashes and he flashes you a despondent smile before standing up and walking away. After a moment, you hear the roar of the Impala's engine and listen to it fade away in the distance. Leaning over your unconscious boyfriend, you finally release a deep sob.


	4. As The Crow Flies

After a few days of recouping at the motel, Mike starts feeling better again. It had taken all your strength to get his unconscious body into the truck and then even more effort to get him into the motel room with no one seeing, but you had managed. At this point, you have become quite proficient at first aid and you patched him up nicely. His face is still swollen, purple, and covered in lacerations, but he seems to be healing well.

You had been prepared for unprecedented rage and anger; however, Mike has been uncharacteristically quiet over the last few days. The energy in the room is tense and you can feel the anger rolling off of him, but he hasn't raised a hand to you or yelled since the incident with Dean. You're unsure of what it means.

While preparing lunch for him, Mike is sitting on the bed with his laptop. As you are putting the finishing touches on his sandwich, he speaks up. "Sounds like there might be a case just a couple of hours away from here. A bunch of people have gone missing near a forest just outside of Stillwater. From the reports, I have a hunch that it's a couple of Vetala. We should go check it out."

His voice sounds steady and even which makes you relax your shoulders. "Are you sure you're up to it?," you inquire, "You're only just starting to get back up on your feet."

Mike shoots you a glare as you place his sandwich on the nightstand next to him. You swallow the large lump in your throat. "I'm fine," he spits. "I want to get hunting again. If we leave after lunch, we can be there in a few hours and can check the place out before nightfall."

You shake your head softly as you sit at the small table with your own sandwich. "Ok," your respond, "Let's do it."

It had taken you a bit longer to drive to your destination than expected, but Mike insisted on getting a head start on the case. Therefore, it's already twilight when you pull up to a remote and abandoned cornfield at the edge of a dark, forest. There are a few remnants of old corn husks in the field, but besides that, it's barren and empty.

"What exactly are we looking for?," you ask with a shiver. The cool autumn air is biting and you wrap your thick sweater around you tighter.

"You'll see," Mike responds elusively as he begins to walk into the empty field carrying his pistol on his hip. You skip to keep up with him.

Neither of you stop until you're at the other end of the field and bordering on the edge of the woods. Dirt and rotten leaves fill your nose, but there's something sweet in the air too. Mike approaches the tree line before stopping. "Here we are."

Looking around, you don't see any signs of the supernatural or anything at all really. "What are we looking for?," you ask hesitantly.

"Come over here and see."

You pause slightly before joining him in the tree line. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. As you approach him, we whips around and pins you against a tree. His forearm is tight on your throat and your breath is cut short. Your eyes widen at him as his cruel stare burrows into you.

"Stupid bitch," he cackles, "You've always just followed me like a lost puppy. Never questioning."

Whimpering under the pressure of his arm, you're unable to get a word out. You try to push him off, but he's too big. He doesn't even both to hold down your arms.

"You really thought you wouldn't be punished for what you did? Look at my face!," he yells. His face is ugly and swollen. One of his eyes his partially closed and his bruises are starting to yellow. The cut on his lip has split again and blood is starting to drip down his chin.

Pulling out his gun, he grazes it across your face and pushes the hair out of your eyes. "I should have dealt with you a long time ago. You're not worth the trouble anymore."

Your hands begin to move frantically and push harder against him, but his weight is pinning you against the tree. At this point, his arm is cutting off your airway and you're gasping to breath. Your thoughts are going a mile a minute as you try to shove his chest. He laughs at your struggling.

"You have made me look stupid for the very last time. And now you're little boyfriend isn't here to save you."

"Pity," he drawls as he looks down at your heaving chest, "I did love using your tight little body."

Becoming frantic, your hands are searching for anything to defend yourself with. He doesn't seem concerned about your movements in the slightest.

"Oh well," he sighs and cocks the gun against your temple.

At that moment, you find your hunting knife attached to your belt loop. Grasping it with steady hands, you pull it out and plunge it into the side of his neck.

His eyes go wide in shock and he stammers. The gun falls to the ground as his grip loosens on the trigger. His other arm falls from your throat letting a rush of cold air into your lungs. You gasp and pull the knife from his neck.

Instantaneously, a fountain of blood spurts from his stab wound. Your chest heaves for air and Mike stumbles back away from you. Looking on in horror, you both stare at each other with shock. Still breathing heavily, you advance on him until you're merely inches away. He's clasping his hands to his neck as you sink the knife into his belly. When you pull the knife out, he falls to his knees.

The knife is dripping in blood and your clothes are now soaked through. He stares up at you and attempts to say something before collapsing back onto the ground. Silently, you watch him until you see his chest stop moving and the light leave his eyes. His crimson blood seeps into the frozen dirt.

The wind has picked up and it blows your hair into your face. It sticks against your bloody cheek and chills you through your damp sweater. Looking down, you finally notice that you're coated in blood. However, you don't shiver anymore.

Dropping the knife, you start to walk back across the field, leaving Mike amongst the trees. The sun is gone now and it's dark, but the moon guides your way. Jumping up into your truck, you rest your hands on the steering wheel. You sit for awhile in silence aware that you're staining the seat and the wheel with Mike's blood. A crow scavenges the barren field for traces of corn.

Once the crow flies away, you dig your phone out of your pocket. Streaking it with your hands, you reach for the glove box and grab the card that Sam gave you. Nobody answers the first two phone numbers you call.

Trying the third number, it rings five times before a gruff voice answers.

"Dean?," you whisper softly into the phone.

"Y/N?," Dean calls out in his deep tone. Your voice cracks as you try to respond, but the words don't come out.

"Just tell us where you are," he asserts softly, "We're on our way."


End file.
